Golden Hours
by Your Angel of Music
Summary: 'Syed had never seen Christian sleeping before.' It's their first morning as a proper couple - and Syed doesn't quite know what to do with himself. Written for Jack Nasty as part of the WFCTGIO 'Secret Santa'. MERRY CHRISTMAS!


**Title:** Golden Hours  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Set on the first morning of DC week, just after the reunion.  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T

**Summary:** It's Syed and Christian's first morning as a proper couple - and Syed doesn't quite know what to do with himself.

**Author's Note:** Over at WFCTGIO, the Chryed Forum, a 'Secret Santa' event was organised. This is my present to Jack Nasty. It's not Christmassy at all, but it was born from a list of 'likes' and 'dislikes' and 'favourite moments' that we each had to fill in before the draw. I hope I have taken as much as possible from your list, **JN**, and I hope I have written a fiction that you will be happy to receive!

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><p><strong>Golden Hours<strong>

**For Jack Nasty**

'_You must have been warned against letting the golden hours slip by; but some of them are golden only because we let them slip by.__'_  
>James M. Barrie<p>

Syed had never seen Christian sleeping before.

It didn't seem right, considering how many nights they had lain together - hopelessly entangled in a web of love and limbs, of desperation and passion, of guilt and lies – but that morning, as the cracks of sunlight crept through onto the bed, truly was the first time he'd ever seen Christian sleep.

Every other time Syed had woken up in this bed he had awoken to gleaming eyes, shining with unspoken sadness and staring down at him from the pillow, or the chair, or propped against the kitchen pillar. Those misery-tinged eyes had begun to replace the morning sun – it was their light that shone over him every morning, tugging him from the last vestiges of sleep. It was as if Christian's body clock had reworked itself to give him as much time as possible, to _stare_, before the fabric of their make-believe utopia crashed down around them.

Only today, for the first time, the wall of their world was solid. It wasn't coming down. Their foundations were dug deep, filled in with fresh earth. It was new and strong and _terrifying_.

It stirred something indescribable in the pit of Syed's stomach: to see someone so strong, so confident and so proud, splayed out so loosely, so openly and so vulnerably across the twisted sheets. He swallowed hard, forcing the churning feeling back down his throat as he swiped his tongue nervously across his dry mouth.

They had _time_.

He didn't know what to do with it.

A part of him wanted to lie there and just look; run his gaze over Christian's sleeping body, luxuriating in thoughts of what he was going to do to it later on. He'd never been able to do that before. Not the thoughts themselves - every second of every day, as much as he'd tried to quash it, those images had played like a constant film across his mind - but to look _and_ think at the same time. He'd never been able to do that. He'd never even thought about it. But, now that it was laid bare before him, his mind was gluttonous for it.

Because Christian…well, Christian was beautiful.

No, that wasn't the right word – but he couldn't think of anything else that encapsulated it in its entirety.

Syed had never been able to fathom how such a gorgeous specimen of manhood had fallen for _him_. He'd never seen himself as particularly special, in any way, but there was something about him that Christian seemed to love. He couldn't put his finger on what it was exactly, but it was there. The thought brought the faintest tinge of a blush to his cheeks. And, as he drank in every inch of the figure stretched out next to him, he couldn't deny the sparking thrill of being worshipped by a demi-god.

The sheet that had covered them both – the duvet had been kicked off in the heat of last night and they hadn't really hadn't had the energy to retrieve it – had managed to shift down to just over Christian's waist, the slight curve of his hip nudging through the thin material. Syed followed the dip of his thigh, his eyes roaming lazily down the taut bump of leg that, gradually, thinned out into feet that poked over the edge of the bed.

It was odd seeing him so still. Christian, in his conscious state, was a bundle of shimmering vitality; a man of action rather than reflection. Syed had seen his body before, but he'd never really had the chance to _look_. Usually, the finer detail was obscured by the constant movement of life; but now he found himself gorging his mind on the figure beside him, his feast only interrupted by the subtle _rise-fall_ motions of Christian's chest.

He understood now why Christian had so often been out of bed when he'd woken up. Because the urge to _touch_…oh god, it almost hurt. He wanted to stretch out his hand and splay his fingers against the gently moving chest; feel the pulsing warmth of his skin through his fingertips; catch his nails on the blanket of hair which peppered the skin, infusing the flesh with a heady mix of coarse and smooth that Syed just loved.

It wasn't even about the sex (much). It was about touching, and feeling, and taking the time to sear every single bump and ridge into the depths of his brain. He needed that. He wanted it. He wanted to see what he hadn't had the time to see; know what he hadn't had the time to know; feel what he hadn't had the time to…

Syed pulled away suddenly, yanking his hand back as it hovered towards the thrumming skin above Christian's heart. He couldn't close the gap. If he fulfilled the urge for contact, it would mean breaking the barrier of sleep – and, more than anything, Syed wanted to luxuriate in this _thing_ that he had never experienced before.

It was so…so new…so alien…so gorgeous.

Sliding back the sheet as gently as he could, Syed slipped out of bed –casting a glance towards his discarded clothes before dismissing them – and headed over to the window.

His mind thrummed as he caught the corner of the curtain, pulling it slightly to the side and peeping out through the crack. The sun streamed into his eyes, almost blinding him with thoughts of the outside world. His head began to throb, a dull ache pulsating just above his temple. He knew that somewhere out there, not too far away, his parents were waking up: having breakfast, getting Kamil out of bed, dressing and maybe even looking out of the window as he was doing now.

He felt so far away from them. Further away than he'd ever felt before. When he had been cut off, lost in those years of solitude, the physical distance between them had helped to soothe the wounds; only a little, but he had been grateful for any relief he could get. This time, however, he was so close, so dreadfully close, that he could feel the burn of estrangement branding deep into his heart.

There was a tug just below his ribcage, as if a tiny thread was connecting him to his family, trying weakly to drag him back to the people he loved. He knew, from experience, that that would never go away. There would always be a painful jerking in his heart, pulling him towards them through some kind of magnetic force. They were his family, after all, and he loved them. He loved them with all his heart and all his soul.

But he also loved Christian. Not more or less, just…differently.

And he'd realised, finally, that to love Christian was to love himself. To love Christian, openly, was to banish the lies and the deceit that had enshrouded him for so many years. This way, he didn't have to pretend. This way, he got to live.

The mask had been suffocating him – he had no doubt that it would have killed him, eventually. And dead men can't reconcile their problems. Even as he stood at the window, he clung desperately to the hope that the situation may resolve itself; that his parents may, with time, come around to everything that had happened and accept him for _him_. It was only a tiny sliver of optimism. But it was there.

By choosing Christian, he had chosen hope. Surely that wasn't so bad?

But it hurt. It hurt so much. The pain of being split down the middle; the sting of being torn in two separate directions; the knowledge that, whichever road he chose, his heart was always going to ache just that little bit more because of it…

A burning arm suddenly slid around his waist, cutting off his train of thought. The sharp point of a chin pressed down onto his shoulder-blade, emanating warmth as the gentle, breathy cadence which had soothed him from the bed began to thunder in his ear.

"Hey," the word was slightly slurred, embedded with the sticky remnants of sleep. Syed noted that the arm curled around him wasn't crushing him. Its hold was light, almost tentative – as if Christian was afraid that Syed was about to leap out of the window and never return.

"Hey," Syed dropped his hand from the curtain as he echoed the word, letting the thin material sweep back over the view of the streets as he covered Christian's fingers with his own; pushing down with a subtle pressure, urging him to tighten his grip around his stomach.

The ridge of Christian's nose dug lightly against his scalp, breath tickling the back of his neck as Christian pressed his face into his hair – inhaling softly, breathing him in, making sure that he was really there. Sadness jumped in Syed's stomach as Christian's uncertainty encircled him; the fear was palpable in the air, weighing down on both of them and reminding them that this was a long way from being resolved. There had been so much hurt. And those wounds were going to leave scars.

Their love had been forbidden for so long. For such a long time they had hidden away, burying their feelings and luxuriating in whatever brief moments they could snatch away from the world. Now the rulebook had been torn up completely; leaving a gaping hole in which to forge their own rules.

It wasn't hidden anymore. There were no boundaries. And that was going to take some getting used to.

There was another breath across his skin, another nuzzle against the roots of his hair, before Christian dipped his head to the side and rested his chin back on Syed's shoulder.

'You okay?'

A half-smile danced on Syed's lips as he leant back into the hold, pressing his back firmly against the warm chest behind him; fighting through his own uncertainty to offer whatever comfort he could give. God, it felt so _good_ to be cared about.

"Yeah."

"You sure?" Christian's gaze was fixed over Syed's shoulder, through the tiny crack in the curtains. Syed knew exactly where he was looking. And what he meant.

He didn't answer.

Instead, he turned around – the movement inelegant and messy due to their tight hold on each other's bodies – his fingers releasing Christian's hand and playing out across the centre of his chest. He didn't need any words after that. The look that simmered between them, the touch that welded them together, the pointed way in which Syed brandished his back to the outside world…it was all the words they needed.

Silence descended on them, broken only by their breaths – lost in the hold, in the synchronisation of breathing and heartbeats, and in each other.

It was a new thing: both of them there, naked and pressed together, and yet neither one of them felt the urge to do anything other than just stand. That hunger, which was normally a sharp pain in the pit of Syed's stomach, was now reduced to a minor itch. He could look beyond it. He could ignore it. The pads of his fingers moved in tiny circles against Christian's chest, luxuriating in the languorous rising and falling of the ribs beneath. He let himself take in every single sensation: the ripple from Christian's heartbeat, the breath ghosting across his face, the intense warmth of the gaze being levelled down at him, the searing heat from the flesh, the coarse crinkle of hair tickling his palm…

He wasn't certain who leant forward first. The 'Hopeless Romantic' Syed wanted to say that it happened spontaneously, a unified movement of two people as one; but the 'Incessant Realist' Syed knew that the thought was far too soppy to fit what had been their relationship so far, what he hoped their relationship to be. They weren't as one. They were two working together, sometimes catching on each other's edges but making the glorious best of what they could. He didn't want anything else.

Whatever happened, it wasn't long before their mouths were together in a beautifully tangled mixture of lips and teeth and tongues. Syed's free hand caught at the back of Christian's neck, crushing him down towards him, fusing them together. He wanted to make the moment last as long as he possibly could – stretching it out, filling every single second with their heady breaths.

It was messy – the remnants of sleep still clung to Christian and they both desperately needed to brush their teeth – but it was _coupley_.

It was nice.

Suddenly, Christian pulled away. The sudden movement took Syed by surprise, forcing an unbidden frown of consternation onto his face. Christian's eyes sparkled when they caught the expression, a smile quirking at the corner of his mouth as he leant back and carded his fingers through Syed's hair. There was a brief pause, before his tongue snaked out to moisten his lips and his mouth opened to speak.

"Y'know, Sy, this is all I've wanted…I dreamt about this for so long," another gentle stroke against Syed's hair, the movement slow and thoughtful, his eyes glistening with something that Syed couldn't quite place. 'But…now it's finally here…"

Syed felt his heart sink as Christian looked away, an unfathomable look descending over his features. His fingers tightened just a little so that the nails dug into Christian's chest, clawing with a silent, pleading desperation against the beating heart beneath. Eventually, the other man raised his gaze, his eyes catching Syed's with a strange intensity that burnt his irises.

"…I am kinda gonna miss the eye sex."

Syed let out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, his hand curling into a fist and thumping down onto Christian's sternum – not enough to hurt, but enough to leave a tiny red mark.

"Don't do that!"

Christian just grinned.

And, at that, Syed felt his annoyance melt ever so slightly. It was so good to finally see that again: a happy Christian, a relaxed Christian, a Christian with an easy sparkle shimmering in his eyes. Syed hadn't seen that in such a long time. Even after everything that had happened yesterday, Christian's happiness had been cautious; every touch and movement seeming to map Syed's body as if he wasn't sure whether he'd get the chance again. Each caress of tongue, each press of lips, each twisting of fingers, had held the remnants of the frantic, almost desperate passion that had encapsulated their relationship.

"You have to admit, though," Christian's fingers were pressing against Syed's jaw, his thumb rubbing gently across his chin in a trance-inducing rhythm. "It was kinda hot."

Syed tried to imbue his eyes with a look of disapproval, but with each touch he could feel his demeanour enfolding comfortably in on itself. So, instead, he reached up, cupping Christian's face in his hand and crushing their mouths together. Violently. He felt a red-hot fire sparking between their lips, licking down their throats to sear at the pit of their stomachs. If Christian wanted passion, then he'd give him passion. If Christian wanted urgency, then he'd give him urgency. They could still do that. It was just so good to know that they didn't _have_ to.

There was a hitching sound as Christian lost a breath somewhere in his throat, his hand dropping from Syed's cheek to press against the small of his back; pulling them closer, nails digging into flesh, moving deeper, lower, pulses heightening…

It was all Syed could do not to groan as Christian pulled back again, breaking their contact suddenly – he instinctively tried to follow the movement, straining forward, but Christian held up his hand and pressed two fingers against Syed's lips.

"Although," his eyes flicked from Syed's lips to his irises, his gaze like a visual caress. "I think I could grow to like the slow stuff as well."

He brushed his fingertips across Syed's mouth, catching him by the chin and pulling him forward for the briefest of pecks. It lingered for a second longer than it should, Christian's tongue snaking out to swipe lightly over Syed's bottom lip before moving away.

As the cold air hit Syed's slightly sensitized lips, a tiny keening noise vibrated from his throat. The sound ripped a chuckle from Christian's lungs, the air thrumming with the warmth of the laugh.

"Easy tiger," Christian's grin seemed to stretch even wider as he nudged Syed gently with his shoulder, the movement holding such a playful ease that Syed all but forgot the itch of his arousal. "We've got plenty of time for that later. Now, d'you want breakfast or not?"

And, as Christian headed towards the kitchen – his fingertips tap-dancing lightly across the back of Syed's hand as he went – and began pottering about with an easy whistle on his lips, Syed could barely resist the sparkling smile that cut his face in two.

The ache wouldn't go away completely. The issues weren't going to be easily overcome. And they still had a long way to go before everything would be okay.

But that was the point. They had something they'd never had before.

They had _time_.

And that, Syed knew, was the most precious treasure of all.

**Fin**

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><p><strong>Merry Christmas, JN! Nadolig Llawen, Chryedville! I hope you, and everyone else, enjoyed it! <strong>


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